Afterwards
by AvengersIsLife
Summary: Natasha is having a hard time dealing with the aftermath of New York. She misses her favorite archer who is supposed to be mentally unstable, so what happens when she learns he is alive and well? A plot twist is what happens!


Time and time again she found herself, wandering hopelessly through the streets, searching for somewhere to stay. Lights flashed as she crept by in the silence hardly ever heard in the city that never sleeps. After New York, she left S.H.I.E.L.D. on a temporary break. It had all been too much. Coulson dying, herself nearly dying, and Clint being taken. _Clint. _Oh how she missed him. She had heard he was still in psych, trying to figure it all out. Apparently, Loki did some serious damage to the archer's brain, and that he suffered from reoccurring nightmares, which prevented him from sleep. He would never say what the dreams were about, but sit, shaking and pale, in his bed, until fatigue drug him back under, and the process would start all over again.

She wasn't used to being afraid; hell, she was _THE _Black Widow! She didn't know the meaning of fear. Yet her she was, scared out of her mind about things she couldn't control. Murders and death threats she could handle; aliens and things from a different world she couldn't. Bitter cold wind froze the tears forming in her eyes. She furiously wiped them away, then glanced around, searching to see if anyone had seen her walls falter slightly. Normally Thor, Bruce, Steve, or even Tony would sometimes follow her when she left, but as it was three in the morning, there was hardly anyone in sight. She had returned to the tower after a few weeks of wandering the world, shaken and broken, but she wouldn't let anyone see. Only Clint and Coulson had ever seen that side; one was dead, the other mentally unstable.

She wanted to return to S.H.I.E.L.D. the moment she returned to New York, but she had received a text from an unknown number, telling her that Clint was at S.H.I.E.L.D.'s New York base. She had asked Tony to trace the number, but it came back to a disposable phone that was untraceable. She hadn't believed the text, but none the less, it brought up the terrors she had so recently tried to bury, causing her to take shelter on the streets, and her room.

The Avengers had known something was up, but Pepper actually understood. She was the most comforting, leaving her alone, yet showing up when she was her lowest. She was grateful, but she just couldn't open to her like Clint.

_Clint. _His name brought fresh tears to her eyes. She was so afraid of _him- _no, the way he acted when he was under Loki's control. She had to forcefully keep telling herself that. Before the battle of New York, she had felt something towards him, some emotion that she just couldn't place. Coulson tried to tell her about love once, but she couldn't wrap her head around it. It was unfathomable. What was it? How did it form? Why did it form? Was it real? So. Many. questions. Clint used to say she asked a lot of questions, but now he probably wouldn't even recognize her if she bothered to see him. Pepper said what she and Clint had was love, but again, the questions arose. She talked to Bruce about love, but he too had the same questions.

A soft light grew in the distance, and she yawned. Her watch said it was nearly six o'clock. She sighed; Steve would be up for his morning workout in a few minutes. Her feet had carried her in her usual path, and she rounded the corner and reached the tower doors. She punched the button for her floor, but the elevator was taking too long, so she automatically assumed Steve was inside. She sprinted stealthily to the stairs, and just as she crawled up the stairs, she heard Steve's voice calling out into the darkness, wondering who was there.

She climbed back to her room, then sprawled out on her bed, not even bothering to change into her pajamas or take off her shoes. Just as she lost consciousness, she saw a sparkling necklace on her bedside table.

* * *

When she woke up, her eyes immediately focused upon the pendant. She knew who it was from. She didn't understand. How could he be out? How could he have gotten in the tower? How could he have known she was out walking? Was he following her? The thought made her uneasy. He was always good at watching her without her knowing. She hooked the chain around her neck, and decided it was time to face the music.

Director Fury acted startled to see her storm into his office, eyes blazing, her fiery temper matching her flaming hair. "He's out and you didn't tell me?" she spat, glaring into the eye of her leader.

"Romanoff, you haven't had communication with him for over four weeks. Besides, he only got released last night, and he relapsed this morning."

"I don't care- Wait. What do you mean relapsed?" Director Fury sighed, then gestured for Natasha to come closer.

She hesitatingly stepped forward, stopping when she was standing behind the director. Up on the screen was surveillance footage of Clint, tied down to a bed, using every last bit of strength he had trying to get free. But something was wrong; his eyes were glazed, and there was a blank expression over his face, showing no emotion what so ever. He looked perfectly ready to kill anyone or anything he could get his hands on, but what scared Natasha the most was that she almost saw the piercing blue in his stormy green-grey eyes.

She nearly stopped breathing; her fear was creeping back up inside her, threatening to engulf her, but she held out; Director Fury was watching her intently, wearing a worried and anxious expression. She unstuck her throat; "Sir, I didn't know. Uh,"

Fury cut her off. "Romanoff, I don't give a damn what you did or didn't know, but I _do _know that you need to get your ass down to that room and smack the hell out of our archer, because we need him back."

* * *

When Natasha reached medical, where Clint was being held, she hesitated before going in to see him. The psychiatrists were still inside, trying to get Clint to tell them what he felt, saw, heard, and thought. She could see him through a small glass window, staring motionless at a wall, a cold sweat prickling the skin on his forehead. His eyes were filled with self disgust and loathing. He was curled into a ball, his arms around his knees tucked up to his chest. He wouldn't answer a single question. When one of the doctors went far enough to try and induce him with some serum to make him relax, Natasha had it.

She stormed into the room. "Everyone out, and if you aren't out in the next minute, I will personally make each of your lives a living hell until Fury has to physical restrain me from ripping each of your throats out. Now leave." They were all out in less than thirty seconds.

Clint buried his face into his arms, but he still sat rigidly, unmoving. Natasha watched him, trying to decide how best to help him without hurting him. 'Screw it' she thought, and she walked up to him, wrapping her arms around him without hesitation. He tensed up even more (if that was even possible) and she could feel the twitching of his muscles. "Clint," she said soothingly, the name foreign to her mouth after not speaking it for a month. She rubbed his back, trying to calm him down. He didn't budge.

"Clint. Can you hear me? Clint, it's Nat." A small spasm came from his neck. "Na-Nat-Natasha?" he whispered so lowly that Natasha had to move closer to hear him. She squeezed his arm. "I'm here Clint. I'm here." She saw a flash of grey-green peeking out from above his arms. She smiled. "Hi." "Hey."

For the next hour, they sat that way, Natasha holding Clint with her arms wrapped around him, Clint gradually releasing the intense strain he had placed on his muscles. Several people walked by, and there were many stares, but they didn't care. Steve, Tony, Bruce, Pepper, and even Thor called Natasha, but she shut her phone off. She had no thought except Clint right now.

They fell asleep, side by side, and that was the first night in weeks where either of them slept through the whole night without waking from a bad dream. Moonlight streamed in from the window, illuminating the silver arrow on Natasha's chest.

* * *

"I wanted to thank you, Coulson, for putting that necklace in Natasha's room last night. It was the only way to get her to come save Barton," said Director Fury. He stood beside another man just a smidge shorter than him, with steely grey eyes and short brown hair. He had a bandage across part of his chest visible through his unbuttoned shirt. His badge read "Agent Phil Coulson"

"It was no problem sir. Anything to repay for you saving my life. If you hadn't gotten there in time, that Asgardian would have finished me off," he said, smiling as Natasha leaned her head into Clint's chest. "I still don't understand why you told the Avengers I was dead. I never even passed out."

"We needed some way to unite them Phil. Just be glad you were important enough to them to make them save the world."

"When can they know I'm alive?"

"You can tell Barton and Romanoff tomorrow. In fact, since Romanoff decided to break down my door today, I think it's time for a little payback. Why don't you wake them up late tomorrow morning. That should start their day out quite nicely."

"Two comments. One, I request that all weapons be removed from the room, because I know they're both going to be pissed and two, you sure it's a good idea, unloading all of this onto Barton right now? Natasha's name is the first thing he has said since after New York."

Director Fury sighed. "Phil, I know it's right. Just like with Natasha being here, you being revealed as alive will help him cope. Besides, he is going to be beating himself up pretty badly once he learns all the trouble he cause under Loki's control, and Natasha can't fix him on her own." Coulson nodded, then turned back to the sleeping agents. "Can they ever be fully healed?" he asked, pondering the many times he himself felt beyond saving. Director Fury smiled.

"They can be if you try hard enough."


End file.
